


the lights of hope are still shining

by bountifulsilences



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve and Bucky are cute, brief contemplation of suicide, but don't worry, i get past that real quick, its a funny misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: "What's your name?"Steve answered, "if I told you, I'd have to kill you."His eyebrow rose at that, the mirth cloaking his eyes as his lips tugged up. "I suppose I'll just have to risk dying since I'd like to know who I’m talking to.""It's Steve," he admitted, rolling his eyes, and laughing. A pleasant grin aroused a smile onto the stranger's face. "What about you? Am I allowed to know your name?"His teeth gleamed as he replied, "I owe you that. My name’s Bucky."Extending his arm, he waited for Bucky to reciprocate the gesture, to clasp his hand gently around Steve’s and shake. It was formal, perhaps unneeded considering the circumstances, but it seemed fitting with their current setting."Pleasure to meet you Stevie.""It's Steve."Bucky’s smile turned not-so-innocent. "I know. "or the au where Steve and Bucky meet on the bridge overlooking the river and slowly fall in love, one night at a time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this LAST YEAR and it has been in my folder doing nothing. literally a completed fic and everything. why do I write so much? I need to chill. anyways hope you like it, it surprisingly doesn't suck as much as it should! all mistakes are my own bc i suck even if this doesn't so...yupp
> 
> WARNING: in the first half of this Steve briefly contemplates suicide. its not detailed but definitely deserves the warning, he openly admits to it in the first paragraph so be careful my dudes, there's a lot of fluff to come!

The air was drooping with melancholy, and he sat on the edge of the bridge, head hanging low from a lingering sadness. It was toxic, harbouring such intense emotions of despair but he did anyway, never allowing the pollution to seep out of his mind. He supposed it did more harm than good, the silent suffering, as it led him to the position he was in: contemplating suicide.

Cars randomly surged past as a blur, merging with the darkness, emitting a weak stream of light that disappeared the further they travelled. Leaning completely against the stone at his side, he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, letting the mist dissipate around him before thrusting it back in, craving the harsh burn in his lungs. Acutely aware of someone watching, he didn't address them and took multiple drags, hissing through his barred teeth when the smoke built.

"Smoking kills, you know."

He chuckled darkly, amused. "Thanks for educating me, but I already know that."

"Why do it?" The person questioned and then stepped forward.

He heard the distinctive sound of smart shoes clicking against concrete, and took another pull.

"Why are you wearing a suit?" He abruptly enquired, intrigued.

"Oh me?"

"Well, there’s no one else here for me to ask."

"Work clothes," the man replied ambiguously, purposely refusing to elaborate, voice light.

Nodding, Steve resumed smoking his cigarette, sucking the life out of the cancerous stick. The stranger moved closer to him despite no invitation, and stopped a few inches away, hiding behind his shoulder.

"You never answered my question."

"It was a stupid question, didn't deserve an answer," Steve muttered, eyes squinting as he peered at the water in interest.

As though he had attempted to conceal so, the man commented, "I can see your distrust."

Scrunching his face, he turned to him and said, "did you honestly expect me to trust you, even though we just met?"

He was average height, Steve discovered, with short brown hair and filled eyebrows. Piercing blue eyes watched Steve curiously, eye lashes curled immaculately. His crimson lips curled accentuating his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, responding, “no?”

Steve couldn’t help but think he was beautiful. Sighing, he looked back at the river and shook his head, tossing the irrelevant thought into the water and letting it drift away. "That was incredibly optimistic of you."

Curious, he wondered why the man was there, loitering as Steve guided himself through the abyss to find security. The man's presence proved such a thing hard to ignore. Neither of them spoke for a while, patiently listening to the miniature waves slapping the river banks and pondering beneath the starless night.

The suffocating sadness began to dissolve, with a small piece crumbling the longer the man stood. Steve couldn’t describe such a phenomenon, but he clearly found inexplicable comfort in the stranger. Perhaps it was his kind silence, or maybe his unimposing figure that deflated the longer he stood, or it was the calm aura surrounding him that vowed nothing but peace. It was enlightening.

Eventually, he got tired; "may I?" he asked, gesturing at the empty spot.

Shrugging indifferently, Steve heard and through his peripheral vision saw the strange man heave himself effortlessly onto the edge. Attaining a perfect glimpse at his shoes, he saw them sparkle under the moons spotlight and was suddenly consumed with jealousy and unjustified anger.

He seemed to have obtained all the opportunities Steve was never offered. The laces had been tied impeccably, both halves symmetrical and undisturbed despite the seemingly long wear. Almost like their host he considered, noting how his exposed face was straight, composed, however still radiated a feeling of contentment.

An enigma.

"Why are you here?" Steve burst spontaneously, after staring at him intently from where he leaned.

Calmly, he turned to Steve’s slumped body and smiled. "I wanted to see which lunatic was going to jump."

Steve scowled. "I'm not a lunatic, you asshole."

His smile never wavered. "I can see that now."

Slightly offended, Steve looked away from him and detached from the stone, caving in on himself while sat upright. It was surreal, having someone with him as he considered death, hurting in the serene darkness. He didn't think over it too much though, figuring it was anomaly, not be repeated and that in his next visit, there would be no-one other than him and the destructive thoughts.

"Why are you here? Since we’ve established you're not a lunatic."

"I felt like flying."

The man's face distorted. "Well you’ve come to a strange place to accomplish that."

Steve scoffed, eyes downcast. "Not so strange when I actually do it."

"Oh? Is that a riddle or something? Sorry, I’m stupid when I’m tired."

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. "It’s not important."

His vision retreated to the levitated moon and illuminated river, completely aware of the piercing gaze from the stranger beside.

"What's your name?" The man asked, the structure of his body deflating the longer he sat. He was getting comfortable.

Growing more at ease at the movement, Steve answered, "if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

His eyebrow rose at that, the mirth cloaking his eyes as his lips tugged up. "I suppose I'll just have to risk dying since I'd like to know who I’m talking to."

"It's Steve," he admitted, rolling his eyes, and laughing. A pleasant grin aroused a smile onto the stranger's face. "What about you? Am I allowed to know your name?"

His teeth gleamed as he replied, "I owe you that. My name’s Bucky."

Extending his arm, he waited for Bucky to reciprocate the gesture, to clasp his hand gently around Steve’s and shake. It was formal, perhaps unneeded considering the circumstances, but it seemed fitting with their current setting.

"Pleasure to meet you Stevie."

"It's Steve."

Bucky’s smile turned not-so-innocent. "I know. So, how old are you?"

Giving Bucky a pointed look, he replied, "- turned the big 21 last week."

It was last week, Tuesday specifically and it had been one of the worst birthdays he had the misfortune to endure. He was mugged, most of his money stolen from him destroying any chance of him buying something for himself; the hope of a new phone was unattainable now. The mugger left him with a couple of bruises though, an exchange that Steve definitely did not want nor need.

His birthday was spent confined to his shitty apartment, unable to move. Sam was forced to look after him when he had clearly made plans and reservations, and had to pay a whooping fee for not attending.

So yes, it was one of the worst he had ever had but he shouldn't have expected much, nothing ever worked out for him.

"vie? Steve?" Bucky's voice retrieved him from the painful rumination and he jolted, feeling a hand touch his shoulder.  

Heart beating fast, Steve looked at Bucky's hand hovering in the air and startled, breathing deeply. Most touches equated pain, he couldn’t prevent the response no matter how desperately he tried to. Quickly masking his face, he asked dismissively, "anyway, how old are you?"

"I'm 24," Bucky replied, face contorted in an understanding as he dropped his hand to his side.

"You seem pretty established," he commented, visibly looking him up and down again.

"I make do," Bucky said. Immediately after he spoke those words, something began to beep, the sound transmitted from his pocket.

Apologetically, he shrugged at Steve and retrieved the device, a Stark design. Steve's smile diminished a bit, noticing the frown line appear on Bucky's forehead. He extracted a phone from his pocket, shock apparent on his face when viewing the notifications.

"Oh shit, Steve! I'm- so sorry, I have to go," he announced, discontent.

Or that could have been Steve misinterpreting how he had said it completely.   

"Um, sure. Yeah, you can go," he replied, poorly hiding the displeasure of Bucky's leave.

"It was nice talking to you Stevie."

Dismembering himself from the edge, Bucky stood, clearing his pristine suit of any fabricated dust and then, giving Steve a liberating smile, wandering back into the darkness he spawned from.

Steve watched him leave, curious gaze lingering for far too long and decided to head home himself, the silence suffocating. Sam was sprawled on the sofa, reruns of a cop drama playing idly. Steve grabbed a blanket from his room, one of the countless ones he owned for his bouts of illness and draped it over the slumbering body, turning off the tv afterwards.

Retreating to his room, he sighed once he managed to get under the covers and closed his eyes, hoping to catch some sleep. He barely just did.

* * * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Steve wheezed, trying to get onto his favourite spot on the bridge.

It had been a week since his last visit. He had been too busy and ill to even glance at the place, nights were spent passed out and days in a hazy nap. However, after rushing out of the house unable to deal with the malcontent in the atmosphere desperate to catch him, he decided to come back.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He rhetorically asked, glaring at the stone.

"No, I don't think it is. After all, it is incapable of thinking."

"Hello Bucky," Steve greeted, spinning so he could see him.

Bucky was exemplary, hair slicked back into a ponytail wearing a navy-blue suit accompanied with a pair of traditional loafers. With a warming smile, he walked towards Steve, air parting so his stride was unmatched.

Looking at Steve with soft eyes, he nudged towards the empty seat and proposed, "can I help?”

Sighing, Steve mumbled a tired, "please," and offered him his hand. The initial graze caused him to flinch, so Bucky waited for him to accustom to his airy touch before gradually lifting Steve onto the ledge. He bared his teeth, feeling his back crack and groan before clenching his mouth to prevent himself from making any noise. Thankfully, Bucky didn't comment on it and merely helped him sit.

"May I?" Bucky asked, looking at the at the empty spot next to him.

He nodded and so Bucky settled onto the stone, cheerfully.

Beaming gently, he asked, "how are you Stevie?"

Panting lightly after the painful experience, he snorted, "why do you call me Stevie? You do realise that you're only a couple of years older than me. Three to be precise. So, I'm not a kid."

Bucky chuckled, coking his head to the side eyebrows raised. "Want me to stop?"

"No- no! It's not that, I'm just...I guess I'm just curious, s'all."

"Well. Steve is a nice name, but Stevie is cute,” he explained, pearly whites gleaming.

Rolling his eyes, Steve stated, "sure pal, sure it is."

"You love it really."

Steve shook his head, a small smile forming. “It’s endearing. I’ll give you that.”

Bucky nodded. “The very best.”

Silence fell between the two and satisfied, they watched the waves battle for dominance. Steve felt at ease with Bucky, more than he had all week. Considering how shit of a week it had been, it was not surprising for him to have found solace with a man he hardly knew.

Remembering the drunk man who had cornered a minor outside of the bar, breathing reeking of alcohol and intoxication disarming his sanity Steve couldn’t just _watch_. He had to do something-anything. And that meant get beaten up until the boy he was helping found a dustbin lid and smacked the drunks head. It was a rough experience.

"Where were you?"

"Hm?" He turned to Bucky impulsively only to see him staring intently already.

"This week. Where were you? I stopped by but didn’t see you..."

"Oh. Um. I wasn't well, so I didn't have the chance to come," he poorly explained, unconvincing even though it was partially true.

Absorbing the information, Bucky nodded, asking with furrowed eyebrows, "am I okay to assume you're much better?"

"Yeah Bucky." It wasn't convincing at all, but if Bucky had latched onto that revelation, he didn't make it known.

It was clearer than a cloudless sky that Steve wasn't okay, with every miniscule jerk he winced feeling dormant pain spread like a wildfire and burn whatever it grasped. Bucky noticed but did not mention any of it. And for that, Steve’s respect for him grew.

"I hope you feel better soon," was all he said.

Smiling in appreciation, Steve nodded. There was sincerity behind his wish, clinging onto every word that tumbled out of his well-kept mouth. Steve may not trust him just yet, but he couldn't deny the honesty behind what he said.

Choosing not to match his gaze, he glanced at Bucky’s clothes again, mapping out the design and intricate patterns. "I like your suit," he voiced, expressing a fraction of his infatuation with them and changing the subject, directing it away from him.

"Thanks Stevie," he replied, "it's one of my favourites."

"I can see why. It's beautiful," he said with wonder and disguised envy.

He had always wanted a suit, even tried to save a fragment of his collections to purchase one. However, with the ones he preferred exceeding 200 dollars with shoes included, he could never fulfil the craving. It died alongside his decomposing mind. But seeing Bucky's revived the dead wish and it throbbed in the corner of his brain.

(It also didn’t look good on his small build, fit him horribly despite alterations but he pointedly didn’t think about that.)

"Do you design them? Your suits I mean."

Ruminating, Bucky explained, "sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly ambitious I do try to influence the design but most of the time, I take ‘em how they are given. The final product is always perfect."

Fascinated, Steve agreed, "you got that right, the tailor knows what he’s doing.”

Bucky grinned in assent. “My friend knows the best tailors in America, so he gets all of the suits made from them. He’s obsessed with having the best.”

"When you’ve got the money for it, why not?" Steve snorted.

Bucky’s eyes lit up. "That's exactly what he says! Me and Clint don’t really care about them, but Tony has this whole thing about dressing good and feeling good "

"Tony seems like he knows what he’s doing," he acknowledged, chuckling.

"Tony is a money-wasting dick, don’t let me convince you otherwise," he declared, "but yeah, he does."

Bucky was smiling fondly so Steve didn’t assume it bothered him too much.

"When you’re worth a million dollars, you gotta look a million dollars," Steve professed, nodding solemnly at Bucky.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Sighing, Steve concurred, “yeah I know.” But sometimes, such as moments like those, he couldn’t help but agree with those thoughts, because he was worth nothing and his attire certainly conveyed that, despite his face doing an impeccable job in doing so without the help.

The loose jacket, hanging off his shoulders because it was too big, screamed worthless. The worn-out jeans, fading into grey that were excessively worn screamed worthless. His buttoned white shirt tucked into said jeans was no longer white and unsurprisingly, screamed worthless. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes, maybe it was just him.

When Sam worn the jacket, he looked good- amazing even. But whenever something dressed Steve's deteriorating body, it always looked awful. Maybe he plagued them, contaminated them whenever they grazed body which is why nothing looked good on him. Whatever it was, it was permanent.

The silence resumed thanks to Steve and he tenderly moved to lean against the stone, bones digging painfully into it. Face scrunching in pain, he arched his back into different positions, trying to get comfortable. Why did that asshole have to go for his back?

Bucky observed it from his side, feet oscillating as they dangled off the edge. He didn’t mention it outwardly.

“Bad back?” he questioned gently, as though he was trying not to spook Steve.

Grunting, Steve nodded, settling uncomfortably to stop his fidgeting. It was embarrassing.

“Uh,” Bucky drawled, digging into his blazer pocket revealing painkillers- the silver casing gleamed the same colour as the moon- explaining, “Tony suffers from migraines. Want one? I don't have any water I’m afraid.”

Shaking his head, Steve replied, “no thanks.” He pointedly didn’t look at the packet.

Wordlessly Bucky nodded and things began to strain between them. Because of Steve. And it was unbearable. Sighing, he tried to initiate a conversation, a way to redeem himself. It wasn't very successful. “How come you’re out so late, anyway?”

Bucky latched onto it regardless, explaining, “Tony loves to host these elaborate parties and since I’m his friend, I have to go. It’s part of the bro code apparently. But to be honest, I just go for the free booze. Now that’s an opportunity I won’t miss.”

“Is it with millionaires like him or do commoners like me attend these parties?”

Bucky chuckled. “I’m afraid it’s only for the elite, I only get in because I put up with him.”

“Well, I bet the booze ain’t that good anyway,” Steve huffed, stomach tingling when Bucky grinned brightly at him. How could a smile be so beautiful?

“Damn right it isn’t. You’re not missing out on much, other than the fact it’s free.”

“Alright Buck, you don’t need to rub it in. Not all of us are friends with gazillionaires.” Bucky laughed aloud, and Steve grinned too, tentatively pulling his beanie down as it was riding up. It was contagious.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind next time I want to boast about going to Bora Bora on his private jet.”

Steve raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You didn’t.”

Shuffling, Bucky shrugged his shoulders, hiding his grin, and replied, “oh but what if I did?”

Steve gaped.

Bursting out into a fit of laugher, Bucky waved it off. “I’m joking Stevie, but you’re face- oh you looked so betrayed.”

Cheeks burning, Steve tried to conceal the blush rushing through him and said, “I prefer cold places, but come on, Bora Bora. Only an idiot would pass that up.”

“Well, I’m an idiot then.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, and Bucky held up his hands. “Tony did offer but I said no, couldn’t leave Clint alone. Not when Natalia wasn’t there to watch him.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve deadpanned. “Screw Bora Bora, if someone offered to take me to California I’d say, ‘Clint who?’”

Bucky laughed again. “So cold Steve, those are my friends”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and that’s Bora Bora. Choice is easy pal.”

Bucky nodded and some of his hair that was held back by his ponytail broke out, cascading around his face, delicately tracing his cheekbones. Breath caught in his throat, Steve watched as he gently tucked it behind his ear, smiling blissfully at the water, moonlight gleaming against his skin. God, he looked like an angel.

Feeling much like a creep and fearing to be caught out, he looked away, focusing on the driven water too. It was a beautiful night, with or without Bucky. That much he could appreciate.

“Hey Stevie?”

Steve hummed, turning expectantly.

“Knock knock.”

Steve made a face. “Please don’t, I hear enough of these from my boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky said, “your boss is a brilliant person, alright? Now say ‘who’s there’, I’ve got a good one.”

“Okay, since you’re insisting, who’s there?”

“Otto.”

“Otto who?”

“Otto know. I’ve got amnesia!” Bucky laughed at his joke, compelling Steve to join in because it was that infectious.

“That was awful, I could do much better,” Steve challenged. Bucky’s eyebrow elevated.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“Knock knock,” he began.

“Who’s there?”

“Adore.”

“Adore who?” Bucky’s grin was already stretching across his face.

“Adore is between us, open up!” They both doubled over in laughter.

“That was awful,” Bucky commented, “and to think I thought I was bad.”

“Hey!” Steve argued indignantly. “Yours sucked. Mine was awesome.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nope, it awful. Look at my ears? They’re bleeding. That was downright torture. So, so bad.”

“So dramatic Buck.”

“Always,” he agreed, grinning.

Bucky had to leave soon, a text coming through that had him saying, “duty calls,” accompanied with an apology. Steve shrugged it off as the clock was nearing 3:00am and bid him adieu, preparing his own journey home. Undoubtedly, Sam would be pissed in the morning when he woke, but dare he admit it, Steve enjoyed the night and didn’t find himself caring much.

Before he left something caught his eyes, a glimmer reflecting off plastic packaging. The pills. Picking them up gently, he noted that they were indeed the ones Bucky offered but he declined. Unable to prevent it, he smiled to himself, depositing them in his jacket. He went to bed that night content and tired, an unfamiliar situation but one he liked nevertheless. Bucky certainly was something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't let it be said that I take things slow- because I don't! you already know what's coming...or maybe not lol. you already know that all mistakes are my own, I suck at edititng and should be grateful that me last year managed to do most of it. I overlook a lot *shrugs* 
> 
> the next bit is gonna be a spoiler and warning so be cautious of what you choose to do
> 
> WARNING: a minor character has a non fatal accident because some asshole doesn't know how to take a 'no'. honestly, fuck entitled people like that, learn how to handle rejection! is that so hard?? sorry, I feel very passionate about this smh but this is not the place oopss
> 
> hope you enjoy this!

A routine formed between them. The next night Steve found Bucky at the bridge nearing 11:30pm and when he raised an eyebrow, sitting in his specific seat that Bucky purposely avoided, he commented, “what are the odds, eh?”

Shrugging, Bucky didn’t respond.

They indulged in this routine every night, meeting up at around 11:00pm and sitting on the stone wall, talking about everything and anything. Learning things about each other that they may not have otherwise; if the comforting cloak of darkness was removed, Steve wasn’t sure they’d be as open with each other.

It was never that they divulged their darkest secrets to each other, but they had clicked. Connected. So, despite Steve never disclosing his crippling loneliness, he did mention his distaste for being alone for too long when he had nothing to do, Bucky sharing it too. And despite Bucky never openly admitting his family was dead, he did say that Natalia and Clint were all he had, just how Sam was all Steve had.

But they weren’t always deep conversations, sometimes Bucky appeared in a dapper suit, shining brighter than the moon hovering above them, tipsy at the most. He’d sit next to Steve, grinning brightly and Steve would ask, “how was the party?”

That would launch Bucky into a story of how Clint fell into a swimming pool he was so drunk, or Tony kicked him out because he was being a nuisance and sometimes how, “it was okay, but I didn’t like this one. Tell me how your day was instead.”

Gradually growing closer and more comfortable with each other, their replies to innocuous conversations became truthful and honest, with Steve no longer feeling weary. There was security in the night that didn’t exist during the exposure of the day, and so he felt comfortable sharing his words with Bucky, a man who didn’t find it imperative to flee whenever Steve spoke.

In fact, Steve was comfortable enough to bring his sketchbook the second week they had been seeing each other, meeting on the bridge with a pencil lodged in-between the pages. Bucky’s eyes sparkled in interest.

“So, Stevie’s an artist, who would have thought?” He carried an easy and fond smile, attentive to the sheets of paper moving whenever Steve opened it slightly.

“It’s a hobby. I’m not that good though,” he confessed, shrugging his shoulder. “I thought maybe tonight I could sketch while we talk? I’ve been wanting to all day.”

His voice was sheepish when he said it, fingers unintentionally clenching around the hard cover, but Bucky nodded enthusiastically, encouraging him to do so. “Yeah, knock yourself out. What types of stuff do you draw?”

Oddly enough, Steve felt vulnerable exposing this information, as though Bucky didn’t know things about him even Sam didn’t. “Uh everything to be honest. People, landscapes, distortions and illusions, depends on what’s inspiring you know?”

“Yeah, what about me? Am I inspiring? I want a portrait, make my ugly mug beautiful.”

“Hey, don’t say that, your face is perfect the way it is,” Steve told him with furrowed eyebrows. “Your cheekbones are amazing, especially when the moonlight hits ‘em, and your eyes, damn, they’re bluer than the summer sky. A perfect cross between the ocean on a sunny day. Your face it’s just so...symmetrical, everything in proportion, aligning so well with your other features I…”

Smiling softly, Bucky prompted, “I?”

“I’d be honoured to draw you. Your face is scientifically perfect, you’re one in a gazillion Buck.” Realising just how creepy he sounded, rambling about how beautiful Bucky was, Steve stuttered, “uh, but look at that moon tonight, huh? Looks especially nice...like a rock.”

“Stevie,” Bucky sang grinning.

Steve’s entire face burned. “What about the water, s’looking swell, don’t you think?”

“Steeve.”

Groaning, Steve looked at Bucky and admitted, “I know, I sound like creep. But your face really is beautiful Bucky, come on. I’m sure you’ve got girls swooning onto your lap. I’m just admiring the art.”

“Usually when people are admiring me, they don’t tend to write sonnets,” Bucky said almost knowingly, causing Steve to flush nervously. “But you can draw me, I don’t mind. But I want to see the final piece yeah? It takes a lot out of guy being this perfect and all. These cheekbones aren't popping all the time.”

“Shut up Bucky,” Steve whined, laughing as he opened an empty page and prepared himself. “I take it all back, you’re an ugly mug.”

Shaking his head, grinning brightly at Steve, Bucky countered, “nope, I’m perfect. You already said so Da Vinci.”

“I’m not that good so don’t get any funny ideas.”

Bucky didn’t reply, but the ease in his shoulders and knowing grin said he didn’t believe Steve at all. Dammit.

In the end, Steve didn’t show Bucky anything because he hadn’t sketched much whilst they spoke. Trying to get a feel of Bucky’s face, he drew his features intimately, outlining them individually, the images scattered across the page. They weren’t any good, he got the lips wrong, and the smile entirely, but he’d practice.

He’d get there eventually. He owed Bucky that much.

“But Stevie come on, you promised, just show me something.”

Steve shook his head, cradling the notepad. “Nope. I didn’t promise you anything.”

“You’re evil.”

Steve grinned, all teeth and exaggerated. “Thanks.”

But what did Bucky know? Steve began to sketch his features everywhere, trying to perfect them. At work, the flat, the bridge where he often met with his muse because he needed to get it right. He had to familiarise himself with his features and then think about actually drawing Bucky, a task so daunting yet exhilarating, that he couldn’t. Yet. He needed more time to prep.

Bucky was overwhelming in all aspects and for Steve do the task at hand, he had to break him down, prolonging the inevitable and then ease himself into it. Only then would he be able to draw Bucky, and until then, they both had to wait.

Eventually the nights grew colder too and soon Steve had to wear a coat rather than a measly jacket, a hat, and gloves, glowering unhappily. He hated having to wear so much. Why couldn’t summer return already? But when Bucky first saw him, walking up slowly with an aching back, he laughed out loud, head tipping back and the noise travelling over the water into the sky.

Steve grumbled, muttering, “shut up Buck, it’s cold and I didn’t want to freeze.”

Eyes lit with mirth, Bucky stated, “Steve, you look adorable.”

Grimacing as he heaved into his spot trying to find a suitable position, he shot back easily, “fuck you,” before settling down. Bucky’s laughed echoed in the darkness.

Sam never really questioned why Steve was out every night because it wasn’t out of the ordinary, he was always one to linger in the silence of nature whilst trees swayed peacefully even if the light was dim. Anything over the hollow structure of the flat, anguished echoes surging through the walls and into his ears every night. He could withstand the cold. Had to.

But, he never made it back for the same time, and usually retreated to the apartment at two in the morning, when it was evident that Bucky was close to passing out. Yawning greatly, Steve watched the exhaustion drown his features as tiredness sprawled across them.

Guiltily, he’d say, “you can go home Buck,” awkwardly looking around, continuing, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.”

Bucky waved it off as, “I’m fine, jus’ a little tired. I’ve still got an hour in me, so anyway, what were you saying, Thor gave you a few days off work?”

Steve would frown but finished his story nonetheless, not pushing Bucky to leave. He enjoyed his presence, found it soothing. So, if he stayed for an extra hour or two, Steve would deal with it, secretly pleased that those times weren’t spent in trepidation or nursing an incurable ache. There was someone with him. He wasn’t alone.

Sam was curious, commenting one night when he was still awake, Steve arriving late, “you took your time.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “it was a gorgeous night, found it hard to leave.” He aimed for casual, but Steve was never good at lying to Sam. He saw through everything.

“Hm, maybe you and this ‘night’ can start coming home early, weather isn’t exactly warm these days.”

Steve made a non-committal noise. “I’ll see.”

(He wouldn’t really, meeting with Bucky starting to become a highlight of his night. He wasn't going to risk that for anyone, not even Sam. Sorry.)

It was reaching such a level where Steve would walk into work, a small smile on his face as he recalled Bucky’s story from the night before- “aliens, Stevie, aliens. And you were there! All big and muscly, fight them off with this blue shield. It was so weird.” - and Hawa, his co-worker, would grin at him, nodding her head in blatant happiness.

It wasn’t that Steve had miraculously changed, he still couldn’t sleep at night, snapped at Sam, and couldn’t really concentrate, often fighting assholes when he saw them. It was just, the need to end his life had diminished. Before, he felt as though he had nothing to look forward too, no future or happiness and his hope deteriorated drastically, forcing him to reach the horrific decision.

Steve didn’t want to die. He just wanted to effectively end the constant agony, obliterate his misery, and cure the desolation clouding the flat. A consistent presence that just took and took and took until he was scrambling for something- anything. But ever since he met Bucky, a stranger whose surname he was yet to learn, he was undeniably intrigued and that’s why he went back.

The whole situation was bizarre and strange, practically begging for Steve to indulge in them. When a pattern was formed, them meeting up every night, he found stability and companionship, something he never knew he was craving so desperately.

In his repetitive life, Bucky was a dose of fresh air, a refreshing breeze that was finally aiding Steve as he harvested the seeds in his empty field, with Sam watering them unswervingly, and with most of the people in his life providing the imperative sunlight. He was too weak yet to find the light within him, but with the support he received he knew he might just locate it. Maybe he wasn’t barren of life and hope, it may be concealed beneath his sorrow.

It was a wish that very well could come true. Miracles happened every day. The biggest being how Steve never died from the beatings he endured. That was enough proof to convince him.

Steve’s sadness wasn’t cured, and when it struck it submerged him completely, not allowing even a finger to graze the surface of the water, but he was starting to fight back. He couldn’t allow himself to drown. Not anymore.

* * * *

“Hey Steve?” Sam called from his room, bustling throughout the flat. A date.

“Yeah Sam?”

“Barton and Barnes are joining me and Nat tonight, wanna come with? We’ll be back before 11, so you can go and do whatever it is you’re doing. She hasn’t seen you in a while.”

Sighing, Steve’s hand halted in its stance, the tip pressing tenderly against the white sheet. He really didn’t want to go. Not when he suddenly found it in him to start drawing the shape of Bucky’s face, that too from mere memory. A desire was pumping through him, an ambition that he could do it.

Who knew if he’d ever feel it again?

“Uh, maybe next time? I’m working on something really important,” he admitted, shifting his gaze from the open door back to his notepad, where a few lines configured a shape. Yeah, he really wanted to do this.

Sam didn’t reply, only making a couple of sounds as he changed his clothes, but eventually, his head popped into Steve’s room. Curiously, he eyed the notepad, asking, “what’s got you so inspired suddenly?”

“Uh,” Steve drawled, dumbfounded. Slowly, he brought the drawing up to his chest, hiding it. “No-one, I mean nothing. It’s nothing.”

Something in Sam’s eyes changed, and he nodded perceptively. “So, who’s the lucky boy or girl that’s captured your attention? Don’t think I haven’t seen you drawing lips and eyes and eyebrows everywhere.”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, stupidly playing dumb.

“Alright, you do that. I’ll let Natasha know.” Sam slowly backed away, pointing between them, promising, “when I get back though, we’re talking about this.”

“But-”

“When I get back Steve!” Sam vowed, and he retreated to his bedroom, continuing his quest getting ready.

Nodding to himself, Steve breathed out and plopped the notepad on his lap, exposing the structure. He had bigger issues to deal with. Such as trying to do Bucky’s beautiful face whilst duplicating it on the paper. For some reason, he didn’t think it would be that easy.

And easy it wasn’t.

Two hours later, paper carpeting his floor and multiple attempts failed, he was still nowhere near starting it. Every time he tried to draw Bucky’s face something would be done wrong. Either Steve would make it too wide, or not wide enough. His chin was too pointy or sometimes too round. On some occasions, Steve even drew it too circular, and it just wasn’t right.

He couldn’t reproduce the sharpness of his jawline, yet the softness around Bucky’s chin. Nothing was coming out decent, let alone good. At this rate, he wasn’t too sure he’d ever manage to do it.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and just…gave up. If he couldn’t do it now, then next time inspiration sparked, he’d try then. It was simple enough.

“Steve…these are identical, I don’t see the problem,” Sam said, a crease of a frown on his forehead. “I mean, what’s wrong with them”

Removing some sheets out of Sam’s grip, he explained, “the chin is all wrong here. With this one, the face is too wide trust me. And here, it’s so long it looks like a baseball bat. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen, they’re exactly the same you idiot.”

“But Sammy, look, they’re not. Do you need glasses to see it clearer?”

Glaring, Sam stated, “my name is Sam, and no, I don’t need glasses. Maybe a microscope though, because these flaws you’re seeing are microscopic.”

Steve rolled his eyes this time. “You’re just not looking close enough but fine, whatever. How was Natasha?”

Sam engaged attentively instantly, hearing his girlfriend’s name. “She’s good. Totally understood why you couldn’t make it, but you owe her Rogers, a coffee date. Barnes and Barton were there two. Hilarious, the both of ‘em. You really would’ve liked meeting them Steve, especially Barnes, he’s a weird night owl like you.”

“Insomnia forces me to be a night owl.”

“Eh, semantics. But anyway, are you headed out today or not? Because if you are get some milk. We don’t have any.”

Steve gathered the papers off the floor and glanced at Sam, nodding. “Will do. Goodnight Sam.”

They probably wouldn’t see each other until the morning.

“Night Steven.”

“Dick,” Steve muttered, as Sam walked away.

Sam called over, “heard that!”

“Good!”

Smiling to himself, Steve threw the sheets into the recycling bin, opting to leave his notebook in his bedroom, and tossed on a beanie, trying to hide how truly filthy his hair was. The grease was soaking it wet, it felt disgusting. He was supposed to shower, but got so carried away with drawing he didn’t get around to it.

But now, pulling on his coat and bracing himself for the icy veil that was going to surround him, he was truly regretting it. Why was he so repulsive?

Frowning at himself, he dispelled the thought and called out one last, “goodbye!” before going out and wandering to the bridge. When he got there, Bucky was already situated in his spot, staring out at the gentle waters as they streamed by under his feet sparkling. He looked good, Steve thought soon, wearing a hat of his own, and a scarf around his neck, face burrowed into the soft material.

God, he looked stunning, relaxing under the kind gaze of the moon. A part of Steve didn’t want to disturb him, wanted to stay back and just observe a while longer, the magnificent being that was Bucky.

But whilst walking slowly, his foot tripped on a rock, causing his body to lean to the right and for him to lose his footing. He almost fell face first onto the ground, only managing to save himself at the last second, and Bucky’s booming laugh penetrated the silence, as he recovered from the near fall. His face was hotter than the sun at this point.

“Shut up Buck,” he snapped without any real heat, and sauntered swiftly over to him, leaping onto the wall. It only made him laugh harder.

“Stevie, Stevie you-” he tried to speak but found himself compromised, laughter overpowering his speech. Steve pushed him petulantly.

“It wasn’t even that funny. I didn’t fall.”

“But you almost did,” Bucky pointed out, erupting a smile on Steve’s face.

Rolling his eyes, he said, “shut up, loser.”

“Dork.”

“Ass.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Are we just going to swear at each other tonight then? I need to save my big guns for last.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve nudged their shoulders and said, “we will if you carry on like that.”

Feigning innocence and confusion, Bucky questioned, “carry on like what?”

Steve just shook his head. “How was your day? Mine was alright, finished work early for a doctor’s appointment and Thor told me not to come back. Should I feel offended?”

Steve saw him open his mouth, to say something but was interrupted by his phone beeping and frown lines creased his forehead. Apologetically, his smiled diminished as recovered the device from his pocket. Viewing the screen, his expression shifted dramatically.

"I'm…I’m so sorry, Steve, I have to go. Something’s turned up," he notified, the smile contorted into a worried frown. “I’ll see you later.”

Understanding, Steve gave him a tight smile and said, "yeah. Yeah of course. Bye Bucky."

Removing himself from the edge and unbothered by the wind, Bucky turned to leave, but not before offering a brief explanation, “my day was actually going brilliantly,” before wandering into the endless darkness.

Steve didn't want to admit it, but Bucky leaving at that very moment, had a profound effect on him. He became dejected as the minutes progressed, looming onto 11:30pm. Figuring Sam was already asleep, he winced, sliding over and onto the floor. His back ached from the almost fall but he pushed the pain aside, deciding to deal with it when he reached the flat.

It took him longer than usual, having to stop on the way to purchase some milk, but when the clock struck 11:30pm, he reached the ghastly destination. Walking into the flat, he saw a sight, clearly unexpected. Sam was pacing anxiously up and down the brief hallway, worry displaced openly on his face.

Slowly taking his coat off, Steve questioned, “Sam, what’s wrong?”

Turning at the sound of Steve, Sam paused, and eventually revealed, “it’s Nat. Some- some asshole couldn’t take no for an answer, and pushed her onto the road, and- and a car was coming and...fuck.”

Steve’s eyes widened immediately. “Sam, Sam what are you doing here? Go to the hospital! How bad was the hit? what -?”

Shaking his head, Sam divulged, “I can’t go, nobody can see her until the morning and Barton is already there. He’s staying until she wakes up.”

“What about Barnes- Stark? Where are they?”

Shrugging, Sam disclosed, “no idea, but Barton figured they’ve gone after the guy. James was pissed that someone tried to…”

Stupidly, Steve’s gaze lowered and he didn't know what to do, how to comfort Sam. Sam, who looked so small and worried in that moment, it was hard to believe he was bigger than Steve. Nonetheless, Steve did the only thing he knew how to do, he walked over to his friend and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing as tightly as he could.

Clearly grateful, Sam clung onto him, and they said nothing, unaware of what to say. In that moment actions spoke where words couldn't and Steve felt entirely useless.

The morning after Sam stayed home, not going into work in favour of visiting Natasha in hospital. The wounds were non-fatal, her ankle sprained, ribs fractured and multiple bruises. Thankfully, she was awake.

Completely for the idea, Steve insisted that Sam take a day off, going to see Natasha instead whilst Steve went to work. He also said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to see her this week, I’m booked, but I’ll definitely try to next week.”

Nodding, Sam replied, “it’s fine Steve, she’ll understand. Don’t worry about it. Now get to work, and don’t forget to eat something at lunch, I won’t be able to make it.”

“I will Sam. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you later.”

Not waiting for a reply, Steve wandered out of the flat and tightened the coat around him, pulling it from both ends. His hair blew raggedly in the wind, and sure enough winter was here. Enclosing him in its bitter embrace, and holding on securely. Steve breathed out, regretting not bringing a hat at least. Maybe then his ears wouldn’t be freezing from the tips, the ice smothering his skin as it travelled down his face.

He was just eager to leave the apartment. Perhaps not to work, in an ideal world he would have preferred exiting the oppressive flat to be welcomed by a scorching orb in the sky, warming the earth's surface. He would have liked to visit the park, to be surrounded by trees soaring upwards, decorated with green leaves, and assembled all over, protecting him from all the cynicism that tailed in his wake.

Multiple flower beds would be nice too, vast expanses of nothing but colour and vibrancy, so everywhere his vision strayed seeking hope and comfort, he’d find a rainbow. A magnificent array of colours, with him and his notebook, secluded by the trees. God, did he yearn for it.

But instead he was bestowed with grey clouds, a heavy promise of precipitation fuelling them onwards and large buildings caving on him, a cage in which he was trapped. He just wanted freedom, a fresh gulp of air and tranquillity. A vow that life can sustain the bleakest of situations, he just needed an incentive.

Natasha was okay thankfully, and Steve blamed his sleepless night on that rather than his own anxieties, but he awoke feeling particularly sad. He wasn’t sure why, but after the events of the night before, Natasha’s accident, Sam and Steve’s debilitating distress, and even Bucky’s hasty goodbye, things felt…wrong.

Out of place. Which left him unsettled and worse than he already was.

Sighing, Steve shook the hair out of his face, not wanting to expose his hands to the winds and ambled ahead, directing his feet to the coffee shop. He just needed a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually put my tumblr here but maybe I should spice it up a bit...
> 
> hmm nah, tumblr: bountifulsilences :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the first half of this chapter. you'll see why. but brace yourself, bc Steve Rogers is angry af in this fic you're gonna encounter a Rogers' classic.
> 
> I hope you like it! as always, all mistakes are my own and i'm a mess so expect nothing else from this lol
> 
> WARNING: Steve throws up whilst suffering from a migraine, just a heads up for those who need it!

The next couple of nights, he returned to the bridge, each time patiently waiting for Bucky to emerge from the shadows and sit beside him, as he always did. But every time, he failed to show.

Steve knew that Bucky was under no to obligation to come back, it was just routine for him too, but still, he couldn’t prohibit the hope from extinguishing believing he would appear. It was stubborn expectancy that protected his belief from abolition, that Bucky would show or maybe he was just busy.

In those frequent meetings, Bucky had woven himself into Steve’s nightly routine with his lack of expectation and just general acceptance for the way things were. It was no wonder Steve was accustomed and okay with his presence.

However, after a week of no show from Bucky, the bitter words resurfaced and once again, he was no longer there for a person, rather, to escape the confinement of his flat. Thankfully he never returned for an intention, he was okay.

Whilst tapping his shoes against the ledge he was sat on, leaning against the big protruding stone, listening to music being poured into his ears, he didn’t assume Bucky was going to appear. Having accepted he was no longer interested in the visits; he simply stopped coming and Steve stopped expecting.

So, when he did show, walking slower than usual and up to him, Steve was certainly surprised. Drinking in his appearance, he discovered a large bruise on Bucky’s forehead and cuts scattered everywhere on his face. They weren't recent; he could tell from the brief study that they were in the process of healing. From lack of redness and inflammation, he knew that were healing well, cared for appropriately.

Removing a bud, he grasped it in between his fingers tightly, asking, "alright?"

It was evident that Bucky wasn't, but he wasn't going to intrude by going into detail. They kept their distances when it came to injuries, unless it was covertly implied the other didn’t mind. Watching Bucky slowly walk towards him, he patiently waited for his reply, all while anxious.

"Yeah, I'm okay, thanks for asking Stevie." His voice was heavy and thick, not the usual light and cheery that he had first encountered, it was slurred almost.

Smiling tenderly, Steve proffered him with his outstretched hand, which he gladly accepted and then confidently, sat next to Steve’s feet. He didn't make a single sound when lowering himself, unlike Steve.

With how detrimental and impulsive he was, no one could weave themselves into his life. Especially not those who smiled brighter than the sun itself and were nothing less than a riddle themselves.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I’m running away and decided to come here."

Steve waved it off nonchalantly, admitting, "it's fine Bucky. It's good to see you again."

"I hope my presence was dearly missed."

He laughed, a tad startled by Bucky’s confession and nodded, "Oh trust me, it was. I was drawing pictures of you every night that’s how much I missed you and your permanent smile."

Clearly pleased, Bucky shook his head in assent, "good. I’m the highlight of these nightly trips. Don’t forget it."

Rolling his eyes, Steve sarcastically replied, "of course Bucky. Of course."

He chuckled, voice drifting into the enveloping black vicinity, looking thrilled at how the conversation was going. Too thrilled, Steve realised.

"Wait a minute Buck…"

"Yeah?"

"You rehearsed the beginning of this conversation, didn't you?" Amused, he accused him, triggering a full-blown laugh, when Bucky’s face turned a light shade of crimson.

"No! I had no reason to," he insisted, tone definite.

But his body failed in enforcing it, only making Steve laugh harder. He seemed diffident and embarrassed while trying to impose his view. It was too bad, since Steve wasn't having any of it.

"Bucky, you're the weirdest 24-year-old I have ever met. And believe me, I haven’t met many,"

Almost childishly, Steve could have sworn that he saw Bucky pout and complain, "I don't need to plan what I have to say. I'm clever Steve. You're just being mean."

All that was missing was him crossing his arms and glaring at Steve, youthful spark fully ignited.

"I'm just being honest. It's not my fault if you interpret it as being mean Buck," he said, with a sassy undertone that went by unnoticed from the usually observant man.

Another observation that he had noted; unsure if Bucky was drugged, Steve tried to construct a question to ask.

"No, you're not. You're being rude and I’m not liking it. Don’t make me pull my guns out," he threatened, with pretend seriousness that shouldn't have been as cute as it was.

"And where are these guns?" Steve replied, amused over the whole ordeal.

"Here!" He declared, voice rising towards the end, and lifting his right arm, flexing his muscle. He winced immediately.

Shaking his head, Steve contemplated face palming but figured he shouldn't do anything of that sort before a disorientated Bucky. He may choose to follow in his footsteps. He seemed like the type when he was out of it.

"You’re not fooling anyone with those pal," he told him, full of mirth when he saw Bucky’s head drop.

"Stevie," he stubbornly whined, "look at them, they’re bigger than your head!"

Laughing, he remarked, "I have a small head."

Opening his mouth to reveal a new piece of information, Bucky paused when his phone buzzed, emitting the default iPhone ringtone into the air. Rolling his eyes, he fetched the device from his pocket and groaned when he saw the caller ID.

Conflicted, he looked at the phone, then back at Steve before decisively, thrusting it into his hands. "Answer it and tell him I'm not here."

Confused, Steve shook his head slowly, saying, "I think you should answer it Bucky, whoever it is might be worried."

Looking at the flickering screen, he saw the name Clint and helplessly glanced at Bucky. Adamantly, he turned away from him. Steve sighed anxiously. Inhaling a rather large gulp of air, he answered the call.

"Bucky, where are you? I was gone for 5 minutes dude, _5 minutes_ ," a voice, presumably Clint, complained.

Hesitantly, Steve spoke up, "Uh, hi. Bucky doesn't want to talk to you for some reason, so can I pass the message on?"

"Who's this?" Clint demanded, suspicion lacing his question. “Wait, did he just give you the phone on the street? God dammit Bucky.”

"I'm his friend?" The lack of certainty would not help his case and that was clear from his response. Steve didn't know what he and Bucky were, but Bucky perked up at that.

"Bucky doesn't have many friends."

"Well he has me,” Steve offered sympathetically.

He was all too familiar with having no friends. It saved him plenty of heartache but also, caused him much despair. Sam was all he had, and he was more like a brother than anything else.

"Hm,” Clint hummed shrewdly. "I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, can you pass him the phone? He’s not in the state to be out right now."

It was only then Steve realised the tiredness, a small dose of worry but otherwise fondness that formulated Clint’s voice. He seemed liked he needed more sleep than Steve, which was an achievement, considering no one could excel Steve when it came to no sleep. But he figured Clint could give him a run for his money.

Silently, he did as he was ordered to and coaxed Bucky into repossessing the phone. He was resistant at first, opposing such a "preposterous idea, Stevie!" and blatantly ignored Steve. But with some amused laughs from Clint and insistent begging from Steve, he took it.

Cheerfully, he greeted, "Hello Clint!" A goofy grin lining his face.

Still chuckling, Clint replied. Steve couldn't hear his response, because of the water below. But he didn't mind, he didn’t want to intrude.

"Nooo," Bucky protested, face descending from happiness to sadness. "I don't want to,"

"But I am!" He stubbornly declared. “How much longer am I going to be under house arrest for?”

"Fine, but don't expect anything from me," he announced, before presenting the phone to Steve once again.

Slowly grasping it, he pressed it against his ear and feebly said, "hello?"

"Hiya Steve. Can you tell me where you are? I'm going to send a cab to pick Bucky up," Clint asked, a smile evident in his tone.

"Um, sure," he replied before mumbling out the address. Unable to help himself, Steve asked, “is Bucky okay? He’s acting like he’s been drugged.”

That prompted a huge guffaw out of Clint and he said, “it’s the medicines, I promise. The doc’s put him on some strong stuff.”

“Oh,” he eloquently responded, dumbfounded at how serious Bucky’s injuries may be. “Uh, bye Clint.”

With a haste goodbye, Clint promptly ended the call and Steve gave Bucky his phone back. "Someone's on their way to pick you up."

Groaning, Bucky shook his head; Steve could see now just how affected he was by the intoxication. He was surprised Bucky was still conscious at that point.

"I don't want to go back. He's going to make me sleep."

"Sorry Buck, but you have to. You look like you’re going to pass out."

"But then you’re all alone and I like being here, talking to you!" Had it not been for the slight slur, Steve would have reckoned that Bucky had sobered up in a matter of minutes.

Flailing his hands dismissively, Steve claimed, "it's fine. Duty calls."

"Yes, it does, but that doesn't make it any better. I’d rather be with you," he pressed, frowning while staring at the riverbank.

"Well you can make it up to me, take me out for some coffee next time. Two birds with one stone," Steve joked, voice light with a hint of laughter.  

Not noticing that it was a joke, Bucky grew vibrant. "Yeah! Definitely. I know a place, they sell the be-"

"No Bucky, I-I didn't mean it. It's fine, we can stay here and chill."

Ignoring his protest, Bucky settled, "Yes, that's it. Next time we meet, we’ll check it out. Thank God they’re open for 24 hours, right?"

"But, Bucky I was-"

"I'm sorry Stevie, I can't hear you. Can you speak louder?"

"Oh, you asshole!" Steve exclaimed, laughing, and he nudged Bucky with his foot.

Smiling innocently, he asked, "and to what, do I owe this pleasure of obtaining such a beautiful nickname?"

"You're an ass," Steve stated matter-of-factly, "and now, I'm going to hold this against you. We're definitely going to take a trip."

"Just what I wanted."

Steve kicked him again.

He saw the outline of his shoe made from dirt on Bucky’s sweats and felt a small wave of satisfaction. For once, he'd have something to wipe off his otherwise clean outfit.

"Why are you still abusing me? I agreed to take you on a date, don't tempt me to cancel last minute."

Stunned by the disclosure, Steve questioned, "date?"

"It’s a date, isn't it?" Bucky enquired, confusion etched on his face, and then Steve remembered he was out of it, of course he’d make that assumption.

"No! I mean, yes. I mean, if you want?" Steve proposed weakly, not entirely sure where he was going with it.

"Yeah it is. You can’t back out now, you’d break my heart if you did."

"Well, we can’t have that, can we?" Steve said nervously.

Steve had never been on a date. Most of the people who knew him were aware of the boulder resting on his chest, and his inability to connect. No one wanted to affiliate themselves with a tainted man, especially not Steve, who couldn’t even speak coherently most of the time

"I want this to be a date. Do you want this to be a date?" He asked, eyes void of judgement.

Squeaking a weak, "yes," Steve nodded, because he did.

Despite the possible outcomes, he did. He and Bucky had done something spectacular, bonded, he found himself more fascinated than he ever expected. Bucky was more than just a pretty face (very pretty), he was funny, empathetic and he didn’t see Steve as fragile flower, rather an equal.

It was refreshing, hopeful and made him heart bloom in affection.

"It's decided then!" Bucky clasped his hands together. "Until we meet again Stevie, I’ll see you soon."

Hopping off the stone, a large car pulled up on the curb and waited patiently for Bucky to resign into it. Throwing a smile over his shoulder to Steve, he sat into the black vehicle and allowed it to drive him back home. Steve watched the car camouflage with the darkness and then sighed fondly.

Putting the earphone back in, music pulsed into his ear and he gazed at the river. He had a date then.

* * * *

Steve was strolling through the street the next day, bundled up tightly and minding his own business, on the way home from work. When most things went wrong for him, they usually occurred on his way back to the flat.

His earphones were tucked in his ears, music flowing through them and things were fine. Good even. If Bucky remembered his promise then Steve would be going on a date soon, if not, then it was fine, they’d still be meeting as friends. In Steve’s eyes, it was a win-win situation.

But then, whilst walking peacefully, a body slammed into his, knocking them both over and the air out of his lungs. Wheezing painfully, his eyes startled open and the earphones were scattered around him, broke. He blinked.

“What the fu-?”

“Hey, watch where you’re going kid,” the man snapped, who had collided with Steve, making his way onto his feet.

Anger boiled inside him. “You’re the one who bumped into me pal,” he sneered, muttering under his breath as he got up, “asshole.”

“What did you just call me?”

“I said ‘asshole’, you heard me now?” Steve knew, rationally, that maybe he should shut up. This guy could probably crush him without straining a muscle.

But _he_ bumped into Steve and then proceeded to blame him for his own wrongdoing. Strong or not, Steve wasn’t going to allow him to get away with it. Someone had to put him in his place, and it just so happened, that Steve needed to blow off steam. He was feeling restless for some unknown reason.

Two birds with one stone.

Glaring vehemently at him, the man didn’t dignify a response, instead raised his lift, swung it back and plunged it onto Steve’s jaw, not holding anything back. It an instant, he was back on the floor. Eyes blurry and dazed, he felt a foot plummet on his abdomen, knocking the little air he had left out of his lung, causing his to wheeze uncontrollably.

Still, he didn’t back down. Forcing himself upright onto wobbly elbows and pushed up, as he panted, blood seeping out of his jaw, and he winced, trying to establish his footing. “I could do this all day,” he lied, attempting to raise his meek arms and fight. But with a last, deafening punch, Steve fell again.

“Fucking stay down,” the man spat, glare prominent in his voice, and left before he was charged for murder. Nobody ever thought his body could handle it. He was tougher than he looked.

Stomping away, Steve was left alone, in excruciating pain that consumed him whole. His chest was obliterated, face bigger than a football and all he could feel was hurt everywhere. God, the journey back to the flat felt almost impossible.

But he accomplished it, because deep down he knew he had worse and he bounced back, walking back to Sam, pride too large for him to just give up. So, breathing harshly, he assembled his startled limbs and slowly started to get onto his feet, praying the remaining journey would be uneventful. He was prepared for the first round, barely getting through it. Another would surely end him.

Like always, he stumbled into the apartment, urgently trying to conceal the pants, and make it to his bedroom without alerting Sam. Who knew, maybe he wasn’t even back yet.

But, surely enough, Sam heard him despite his poor attempt and shook his head, face descending to the ground. He was disappointed.

Without a word, he strolled up to Steve, helping him disarm from his winter armour and gently helped him reach his room. He was a nurse, working part time in the hospital and the rest of the time at the local VA, wanting to help everyone he could reach out to. Most of the reason Steve survived so long was because of him.

He’d always bandage up any wounds, attentive to infections or other ailments that may hinder Steve and was generally a life saver. He was the reason Steve’s own hospital bill wasn’t as excessive as it could have been, and for that, Steve was eternally grateful.

Helping Steve remove the shirt, he asked under his breath, “what happened this time?”

Whilst assessing he didn’t look at him, opted to stare at the bruising, the blood, and the hurts. Sam didn’t like observing an injured Steve. Hated it.

“Bumped into me. Didn’t like it. Beat me up.” he wheezed and Sam whispered, “Jesus,” accumulating the inhaler from Steve’s bedside table and pressing it into his hands. Steve took a couple of pulls before the air entered his lungs, unobstructed.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “Feel better now.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam uttered, “I’m sure you do.” Steve didn’t let the sarcasm go by unnoticed.

However, he was tired, aching and just downright exhausted, so decided against speaking out. His jaw was beginning to hurt too. Letting Sam give him a once over quickly, he closed his eyes, breaths evening out and waited for the assessment to end. It didn’t take long.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of bruising on your chest, did he kick you when you were down?” Steve nodded. “Son of bitch. And your jaw doesn’t seem broke, just really bruised too. I’m gonna have to stock up on painkillers. But first, I’ll clean your bust-up lip and then make you some soup, alright?”

Steve nodded. Sam left, plan in mind and ready to carry it out, but by the time he returned, Steve was dead to the world. It always happened.

The morning after, he sluggish awoke, perceiving unbearable pain emanate from his cheek and body. Blinds still closed, he opened his eyes only to viciously close them when the weak light shone into his iris. A migraine. He had a migraine.

Groaning through a swollen face, he supressed a sob and touched his head as gently as he could, not wanting to irritate his chest, and squeezed his forehead. It did nothing to alleviate the blossoming agitation. It felt as though someone had ram over his head with a car.

Knowing very well that Sam may have left some painkillers near him, he pried one eye open and looked around, desperate to find the tablets- anything to ease the agonising blaze under his skin. With one fuzzy eye that task deemed difficult, but through sheer persistence and relentless pain, he managed to locate the glass of water and two painkillers that were situated next to it.

Trembling, he placed the medicine in his mouth, laying it on his tongue and shakily gulped down water, crying out in relief when he felt it slide down his throat. Depositing the remaining water back where he acquired it from, he all but collapsed on his bed, eyes already closed, as he impatiently surrendered to slumber.

All he could do was sleep it off.

“-y. Hey Steve, wake up. Steve. Wake-”

“Wah-” he asked, messily retrieved from unconsciousness. His jaw ticked and he flinched, mentally reprimanding himself for being so abrupt, and his eyes slowly parted, allowing light to ooze onto them.

Sam’s face shielded him from most of the light, but not all and he felt grateful, nodding a thank you. Sam understood well enough.

“Hey, come on Steve, you’ve gotta eat something,” Sam coaxed, gently inclining him into a sitting position. The movement was too much.

Shaking his head, he gurgled, “can’h Sam. Hurts.” The mere shake causing bile to rise.

Sam, insistent and hopeful tried gently again, because it had been a while since he had even eaten, but it was too much and the bile pushed up his throat and Steve was lurching forward, vomiting all over himself. Gasping for air, he tried to take in a large breath but found himself spilling his guts across the duvet again, devastated and weak.

Immediately, Sam was behind him, rubbing circles on his back as he murmured calmly into Steve’s ear. It was too much. Too loud. In the end, Sam gently lowered him, promising to get some food in him when he woke again, and Steve was barely conscious but nodded anyway. The words were familiar enough.

Third time round Steve awoke by himself and was greeted by blackness. His sore eyes thanked it and he groaned as his chest jostled, the pain in his mind subsided for now. Sighing, his hand gravitated to his head, touching it gently for good measure before he felt somewhat hungry.

Unsure if Sam was home, he frowned, lifting himself slow and carefully, trying to perch on the bed. Street lights from outside illuminated certain parts of the room without overwhelming him too much, and appreciatively, he bit his lip, knowing the way out. He was in Sam’s room, that was the first thing he assessed, and in clean trousers, remembering how he threw up earlier on. He didn’t want to see the state of his bed.

Mindful of his chest, he placed both arms on either side of him and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting his toes sink into the soft carpet. He released a tense breath. Waiting for a couple of seconds, he then pushed against his hand, leaning forward and unsteadily made it to his legs.

His head went complete blank. Eyes experiencing a burst of darkness, black spots clogged his vision causing his to sway totteringly, but he quickly stretched his hand and sought out something to help him stand. The dizziness would eventually dwindle.

As it did, the spots dying out and clearing his eyes, he exhaled precariously, not wanting to dwell on it for too long. He was starving.

Exiting his room the flat was dark and empty, but easy enough for him to navigate through. Lethargically, he hobbled on the laminated floor and to the kitchen, clutching his chest as though it would prohibit the pain from blooming. It didn’t.

Lungs sore and brittle, they began acting up by the time he reached the kitchen, and he paused, leaning against the doorframe, and tried to catch his breath. He really got a good kick. Undoubtedly there was a huge bruise there now, in wake of the fight and possibly elsewhere too, considering Steve bruised easily.

Ranging in different colours, they littered his body, a spectrum like a rainbow; beautiful, had they not been a product of abuse. Steve could always appreciate an exquisite display of colour, just not when it was painted on his body, and hurt more than he could admit to.

Sighing, discouraged even though he had been awake for 10 minutes, he continued the trek and tried to scavenge something. Easy, light, and attainable. At that point in time, his scorched mind supplied, cereal. Disgusting, cold cereal. Steve was half tempted to slam the cupboard doors on his head.

Exhaling tiredly, Steve moved to the cupboard where the cereal boxes were stocked and moved to open it, but the light turned on by itself, blinding him momentarily and it all went straight to his head. Hammering the serenity of his sleep by the invasive light, and glared at him viciously.

He couldn’t supress the groan.

“Oh shit,” someone- Sam cursed, turning off the light instantly and rushing to Steve’s side, hovering around him worriedly. “Steve, what are you- why are you-”

“Hungry Sam. Starving,” Steve told him, mildly opening his eyes. “I was just gonna-”

Shushing him, Sam instructed, “get to bed, I’ll warm some soup up for you. Jesus Christ Steve, you look awful.”

Adamant, Steve argued, “I can do it myself,” but Sam just looked unimpressed. He bit his tongue.

“Get your ass back to bed Rogers, I’ll come with your food.”

Rolling his eyes (that was painful, why did he do that?), he listened to Sam and did just, but using the toilet first. It had been a while since he’d been.

In 5 minutes, Sam was in his bedroom, carrying a warm bowl full of soup and a fond smile. Shaking his head, he walked to Steve, slowly putting the bowl his lap when he sat. Steve didn’t wait a second before he started to devour as much as he could. It was heavenly. Which was saying a lot since Sam couldn’t cook for shit.

He reiterated as such to him.

“Oh, shut it. Soup I can do. It’s from a can.”

“That’s just sad Sam.”

Sam just glared, urging him to finish his soup so then they could chill. Steve only managed to consume half of it before falling asleep, food enclosed in his duvet and Sam relaying a story from work. It wasn’t his finest moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to do something cool here...but alas i'm not cool so lets have the usual!
> 
> tumblr: bountifulsilences


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo ngl this chapter is sorta kinda cute so. do what you will. it's the last one too, man I can't believe I wrote this last year smh. why do I hoard so much writing?
> 
> as always all mistakes are my own, but I hope you enjoy this regardless! :)
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: brief mention of suicidal intentions. so brief. microscopic. or not I don't know just thought i'd get it out there!

Steve was bedridden for two more days, the headache lasting longer than usual and he spent most of it sleeping. Unproductive and unconscious. The fourth day, he awoke, sore and brittle. Able to finally shower and move without triggering his asthma, he took the longest shower conceivable, cleansing his skin from the sweat and the stench of his imprisonment.

His jaw was still swollen (as it always was) and the large bruise was a mix of green and blue, interlocking colours that covered most his face. It was difficult to brush his teeth, as probing his mouth with a toothbrush was a call for pain, but he did it, because they were in desperate need of a good scrub.

Staying inside for so long had made him anxious, timid, and weary. He needed a break from those four walls, just wanted out. Throwing on a beanie, zipping up his coat to his face and hauling on his scarf, he was out of the house. Sketchbook in his hands, inhaler nuzzled in his pocket, and painkillers dissolving in his stomach. He would be okay.

Leaving the confinement of his flat, he noted it was quite chilly, a light breeze penetrated through his thin jacket and the white, daunting sky made a promise to conjure clouds and rain. But it wasn't much of a hindrance. It felt nice, soothing even, extinguishing some of the fire nestled in his body.

Men and women alike basked in their suits, all hurrying past each other either talking to someone or eating quickly as they tried to reach their destination. There were others there too, not quite attentive and busy, but driven, just like Steve.

It was refreshing.

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, but with the hunger pangs becoming more powerful from the lack of food, he decided on trying to get something to eat. Maybe a drink, since he couldn't exactly eat just yet.

Near the Stark tower was a small, cosy, and unusually quiet coffee shop. It was hidden, trapped in between the buildings enclosing it and was generally overlooked because of how rundown it appeared. It sold drinks and snacks, never experienced rush hour and most importantly, was open 24 hours on most days.

So now, purposeful, he went to the coffee shop.

It was tradition, for him to take his time getting places after a fight because he was always fucking hurt. It was pathetic really. But a consequence of his unregretted actions. Eventually, 20 minutes later, he reached the building.

Strolling, or rather, awkwardly stumbling inside, he breathed in relief when the heat stifled him and went to order something, trying to warm up. The woman behind the counter smiled at his approaching body and questioned, "what would you like?"

"Um, hot chocolate. Can I also have a straw? Please," he said, voice muffled slightly because of his scarf.

Thankfully, either the girl didn't register it or chose to ignore the evident bruise and the dishevelled look Steve was supporting that day, and went along with business, telling Steve to sit and she'd bring the hot chocolate to him once she was done. Offering a small smile gratefully, Steve turned on his heal, about to go and sit in one of the corners, so he could drink without any potential stares or disturbances.

Fate had other plans, because when scanning the room, his locked eyes with the one and only, Bucky. He was smiling brightly at him, looking dashing in a spotless suit. He waved Steve over, clearly pleased that he had seen him. For a second, Steve felt, scared to approached him, for no apparent reason. Gesturing towards the seat, Steve wanted to run, far away so he could avoid the whole confrontation which was certainly weird because this was Bucky, someone whose company he thoroughly enjoyed.

Perhaps the apprehension spawned from not thinking once about Bucky since he was bed ridden, and didn’t even remember him until now. From getting beat up, getting restrained to his bed and sleeping non-stop, he didn’t even have a chance to relax- unwind and just breathe. Maybe that was why he felt uneasy. Or because it was day, rather than night.

Both were plausible.

Plastering an obviously fake smile on his face, he tried to saunter over to him (failing because poison coursed through his legs, scorching and paralysing) before seating himself in front of Bucky in the booth. His smile was blinding, and when Steve reciprocated the gesture, it came out more like a grimace. Not exactly pretty.

"Hey Stevie," he greeted, voice low and steady.

"H-Hey Bucky," he replied, barely above a whisper from not having used it much. Clearing his throat, he added, "how are you?"

"I’m good. But I take it you’re not?" Worry lines etched his face, buffering his composed demeanour, that usually would hide everything. He breached the blatant conversation which they rarely spoke of, where and how Steve acquired most of his bruises.

Maybe he was really worried.

"Oh, it's nothing, I fell down the stairs. I'm so clumsy, y'know?" The lie was transparent.

His hands were shaking on the table, gradually getting worse, to the point he hid them under the table, retracting his hands into his coat. Bucky tracked the ordeal, his eyes following the movement discreetly but he didn't comment on it specifically. His eyes washed over the sketchbook.

"Are you cold?" He asked, carefully watching Steve’s reaction.

"N-no, my hands are just, you know, they get-"

"Here." He slid his cup over to him, steam emitting from the top. "Hold this, it'll warm you up. The wind outside is relentless."

"Bucky, it's fine, mine is on its way," Steve insisted, pushing the piping hot drink back to him.

Bucky simply nudged it back, careful so that their fingers wouldn't brush. "It would make me feel better if you did Steve."

Conflicted, he thought over it before holding the cup with both hands, letting the heat loosen his stiff fingers and stop them from trembling. While he did so, Bucky commented on his scarf, wary, "your scarf looks a bit tight, want to loosen it? It’s really hot in here."

It was pretty warm. But the bruise was too evident, contrasting viciously with his pale skin. “Just need to get something in me, then I will.”

"You can have some of mine, it’s just coffee. Promise I brushed my teeth this morning.” Bucky grinned.

Recalling how Steve was the one to have not brushed his teeth after so many days, he laughed nervously, teeth catching the scarf in-between them to stifle how much that hurt. "Oh, no it's fine. Honestly!"

"It’s no problem for me, but I suppose it’s alright. Waitress is on her way anyway."

Steve looked to his left and Bucky was right, the woman who took his order was in fact drawing near to them with his hot chocolate. Not wanting to be an inconvenience, he slid his cup back to him.

His hot chocolate was placed gently in front of him, and Steve mumbled a quiet, "thank you," wrapping his hands around the drink. His eyes stayed on the table anxiously, listening to Bucky merely thanking the waitress for offering anything else and she walked away as quietly as she came.

Releasing an exhalation that he had been holding, Steve sighed and took a sip of the hot chocolate from the straw. It was a blue straw, like Bucky’s eyes, but nowhere near as beautiful. An important comparison, clearly. The drink felt nice sliding down his throat and settling in his stomach. It calmed his hunger and finally, the persistent ache finally began to wash away.

Bucky was still quiet, probably unsure if he crossed any boundaries or if he had upset Steve- which he certainly didn't. So, Steve did the only thing he could, he loosened his scarf, allowing the bruise to peek over.

Inspecting the room, he noted that the employee had her back to them, on her phone aimlessly texting away and that no one else was present, other than them. Plus, they were out of view, since Bucky was near a corner and no window was close enough for anyone to see them properly. For further reassurance, if anyone did decide to come in, they wouldn't be able to see Steve because his back would be faced towards them.

Given the circumstances, Steve hesitantly pulled the fabric, heedful of his chest and took another sip of his drink, curling his finger on the cup, just to hide how badly they were shaking. Bucky’s eyes darted to him when they saw the movement and didn't leave until they had thoroughly examined Steve. Fearing Bucky would make a remark on his appearance, or worse, cringe in disgust and go to the extreme of leaving, Steve nervously looked around.

But Bucky was sympathetic, and after staring at him intently for a minute, said, "I hope you know that this counts as the date I promised," beaming at Steve as though he had put the sun in the sky.

It triumphantly got a laugh out of Steve and as he opened his mouth, he winced parting his jaw, pain spawning once again. Bucky grimaced apologetically and when he opened his mouth, Steve knew he was going to say.

"Sorry Steve, I shouldn’t be making you laugh with.” He gestured to the bruise.

Rolling his eyes, he replied, "fuck off, as if it's that easy to make me laugh. You've got to try harder than that Buck." It took him longer than usual to say so, due to the injured jaw, but Bucky waited patiently and kindly, not pressurising in any way.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and said, "is that so?"

To which Steve hummed in assent, drinking more hot chocolate.

"Well, I suppose we'll never know, since I don't intend on making you laugh anymore," Bucky stated simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Grinning delicately, so he wouldn't harm his bruised cheek, Steve said, "no need to make excuses, not everyone is capable of making me laugh. You happen to be one of them."

Bucky narrowed his eyes, scandalous. "I don’t like what you’re insinuating here."

Trying to hold back his laughter, for his own sake, rather than Bucky, he nodded, saving the image of Bucky looking affronted in his mind. It was quite the sight.

"I'll have you know, that I am very hurt," Bucky claimed, pouting slightly and good God, Steve almost forgot how to breathe.

He looked adorable with his lips puckered, eyes expanding like a cat's. Another memory for him to keep close.

Shrugging gently, Steve replied, “you’ll live, I’m sure.”

Bucky grinned, taking a quick sip of his coffee and Steve tried not to watch the action, though failed evidently if the smirk growing on Bucky’s face said anything. His cheeks burned, and he drank some of his own drink, sinking into his coat as he did. He was not as subtle as he’d like to be. Oh well.

“It’s been a while, how have you been?” Bucky tried conversationally, masking the glance at the huge bruise poorly.

Steve supressed a sigh and disclosed, “was feeling a bit under the weather, I’m better now though. Just needed some fresh air.”

Bucky nodded, saying, “well I don’t have to go back to work for a while so I’ll keep you company, if you want? Or you can sketch, I can see you brought your book.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind. It is our first date after all.”

Grinning, he said, “too right it is. I’d say we could go to the park but it’s too fucking cold and I didn’t bring my coat.”

Steve frowned, manoeuvring his face tenderly. “Why wouldn’t you bring your coat?”

“Clint drove me here, had to go and do- I don’t even know what. But I have an hour to kill, he won’t be back soon.”

The left side of his lips turned upwards, alluding to a smile, Steve said, “Clint seems nice.”

“Clint’s the best,” Bucky agreed, “but he can be a bit of dick when he wants to be.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Steve asked, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes, and right now, it’s you in particular.”

Steve grinned carefully. “Okay, no park since _someone_ didn’t bring their coat, but I suppose it’s all right. We can stay in here.”

“Well we couldn’t have gone with you wearing just that, Stevie. It’s too thin,” Bucky retorted.

He rolled his eyes. “I have a scarf at least, come back to me when you’ve got one.”

“Oh, sassy today, are we?”

“I’ve always been sassy, you’ve just failed to notice until now.” Steve drank some more of his hot chocolate, the warm liquid soothing his throat and decreasing the anxiety wedged inside it.

“Maybe,” Bucky allowed, “or you’re nervous about our first date and that’s why you’re acting like this?”

Bucky smirked, taking a sip of his drink and Steve scoffed quietly. He was right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, is that so?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not nervous about any date.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the nervous one here.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of crimson. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Bucky, you’re not actually- you can’t be- are you nervous?”

“Well, yeah. Look at you Steve, it took me forever to get to this stage, and I only got here because of pain meds. I don’t wanna screw this up,” he admitted, the blush spreading to his neck.

“You- Bucky. You won’t screw this up, I mean, I. You’re awesome, basically. And I suck with words. But, I trust you, and here’s me hoping you trust me, and that, inevitably, this will work out?” Steve said, wincing at his lack of eloquence and pain from the incoherent ramble. He got over enthusiastic.

Bucky smiled, shaking his head fondly. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at himself. “That was cute Stevie, and you’re right. We trust each other, we like each other, and it’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah, exactly. So, um, how about we just take it slow and see what happens? If we both start worrying before it starts then we’ll jinx it. I don’t have the best luck, as you can see.” Steve gestured to the bruise, pointing at it with his hand.

“Well, I have plenty of luck to go around, so we’ll be fine. I think, we should continue as we are and not make it anymore awkward than it is? What has to happen will, so let’s just go with the flow.”

“But only dead fish go with the flow,” Steve pointed out, grinning as the seriousness dissolved.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Nothing about you resembles dead fish. You’re the most righteous and rebellious fish I know.”

The smile turned proud, barely straining the bruised skin. “That I am Bucky. That I am.”

The remainder of their time together passed with an easeful bliss, moments of silence spent with Bucky staring at him tenderly, Steve kicking his foot initiating a game of footsie, and downing their drinks, and even going for some muffins. If Steve was honest with himself, he was glad to have joined Bucky when he called him over, and cleared any lingering confusion regarding their relationship.

Officially, they were dating, a concept Steve was surprised but happy about, and better yet, nothing between them changed. They bickered constantly, but they usually ended with compliments ( _Buckyyy)_ and they still talked about their interests and shared funny anecdotes. Steve thought for a moment that he would’ve made things uncomfortable or somewhat awkward, but it never happened.

Bucky pestered him about the drawing, the one that Steve had apparently promised. He did no such thing, but did admit that the first draft was completed. He had done it during the week Bucky went MIA, though he didn’t say as much, and figured it was good to get his face down on paper to remember him somehow.

Restless, Bucky demanded to see the image, unconvinced when Steve told him it was a rough draft, far from great and needed tonnes of improvement.

“I don’t care, I want to see the portrait,” Bucky demanded, fingers inclining to the book.

At the last minute, Steve retracted it. “But it’s no good Buck, honestly. It sucks.”

“Steve, this is our first everything! First date, first daylight meeting, make it into the first artistic reveal. Come on, are you really going to deprive me of your talent?” Bucky enlarged his eyes, feigning innocence and sentiment.

Steve groaned, but inevitably caved in. He needed to learn how to say no. “Fine, but don’t cringe too hard. I told you it’s not great.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be the judge of that,” Bucky waved off, accepting the book when Steve offered it on the right page.

The drawing was made of thousands of lines, a very rough sketch that Steve didn’t have time to accentuate. It was a picture of Bucky smiling, looking down whilst sat on the bridge at something Steve would’ve said. Clearly, when the picture was drawn Steve was feeling nostalgic. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious, as he stared at Bucky to see his reaction.

“Steve…wow. This is- this is amazing! You’re such a talented artist, _shit_ ,” Bucky said, amazed, eyes sparkling. Steve’s cheeks burned.

“It’s decent, not that great. Could do with a-”

“No, Steve,” Bucky interjected, “it’s perfect. I can’t believe you managed to make my ugly mug look so good. You’re a miracle worker!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Your ugly mug was perfect to begin with, I didn’t do nothing.”

“I’m keeping this,” Bucky eventually decided, carefully extracting the image, not to ruin the page. “I’m showing this to everyone. It’s perfect, and so are you, and so are your hands, and I’m in awe.”

“But-”

“No buts! I’m going to appreciate the art and you can’t stop me. Later on tonight I’m going to stare at this in bed and then text you about- wait a minute…I don’t even have your number!”

Steve chuckled at Bucky’s affronted face, and nodded. Despite seeing each other so often for so long, they never exchanged their numbers. How? He doesn’t even know.

Grumbling under his breath, Bucky grabbed his phone and gave it to Steve, saying, “number please. We need to straighten ourselves out. How did I not have your number?”

“I don’t know Buck, I don’t know.” Steve pressed the digits into the phone and rang himself to get Bucky’s number, before giving it back to him. Bucky checked it, and then nodded, pleased. Their conversation resumed.

When their time ran out, Clint texting Bucky to come out, he groaned loudly, shoving his head into his arms. “Why does Clint come at the wrong time?”

“Isn’t it the right time? Whenever he does, something good happens. Like you asked me out last time,” Steve wondered, sipping his second cup of hot chocolate, smiling.

Bucky stared him, unimpressed. “Hush, Clint always comes at the wrong time and I refuse to believe anything but.” His phone beeped, capturing his attention once more. Bucky read it with an eye roll. “Never mind, he’s coming inside. Said he wants to meet you and buy some coffee. Okay then.”

Steve felt an irrational burst of anxiety. Oh. “He wants to meet, me?”

Glancing at him, Bucky must have noticed the growing unease on his face because he replied instantly, as soothing as he could, “no, don’t worry about it. Clint’s cool, he won’t stay for long. But if it really gets to you, you can kick me and I’ll get rid of him?”

Frowning, Steve shook his head. “He’s your friend, I don’t-”

Gently smiling and tugging on his jacket sleeve, Bucky assured him, “don’t worry about it, it’s all right Stevie. Now Clint’s on his way here, so let me know if you want out, okay? You’re my friend too.”

“Thanks Buck.” Steve smiled with a sigh, and closed in on himself slightly, bracing for the encounter.

“Bucky!” A familiar voice exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like Clint? Clearly, I’m on a very important date.”

“You’re on a date? Yeah Bucky, get some- oh my God, Rogers, is that you?”

Steve’s eyes widened comically. Turning to his left, he saw a picture of Natasha’s friend come to life and said, “Barton?” A slightly hysterical guffaw released from his throat. It was Barton!

“Rogers- dude, what the, you’re on a date with Bucky?” Clint asked, eyes sparkling is amusement and ginning is disbelief. “Small world, eh? How’s it going? Nat told me about the ass that bumped into you, she was planning to go over to conspire against him, but after the whole accident thing, I’m not letting her out of my sights. She’s extremely argumentative, and with your two’s history, I wouldn’t surprise if you went to find him.”

“Yeah, I’m doing better, thanks. Sam helped out a lot, guess he was still shaken up. How is Nat, anyway? They considered letting her go yet?” Steve inquired, “Sam told me she’s itching to get out, I haven’t had time to see her yet.”

Clint chuckled. “Any day now, they’re just running final tests to make sure everything’s okay, and hey. Don’t beat yourself up about it, she knows and its cool. You should come over with Sam when she does! We’re planning her a surprise party that she’s going to hate just to welcome her back. It’ll be fun, especially now that you know Barnes.”

Steve’s eyes spread across his face like saucers and he gasped, looking at an equally surprised Bucky. “You’re Barnes?!”

“I am so confused right now, but yes, James Buchanan Barnes at your service. How is this-” he pointed between Clint and Steve. “How?”

“So, when you were on pain meds, it was because you beat up that dick who ran over Natasha?” Steve questioned, leaning closer to him.

Nodding, Bucky replied a tad confused, “yeah, he got what was coming for him. Piece of shit.”

Slumping against his seat gently, he mumbled, “so, I guess Tony is Stark? As in Tony Stark?”

Clint started laughing and nudged Bucky to move, sitting down, whilst Bucky nodded, still confused. Steve shook his head. Of course, it was Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes. Natasha’s friends. How did he not realise sooner?

“Laugh all you want Barton, but I never knew your first name is Clint! Nat never specified, and Sam only calls you by your surnames. Hell, _I_ only call you by your surname. This is just…so weird. Mind boggling.”

“Okay, okay, I think I got it,” Bucky intervened, eyebrows clasped together as he formulated his reply. “You’re Natasha’s boyfriends best friend, Steve Rogers, and only knew us by our last names. And knew Clint because of that and oh, okay. Never mind, I’m up to date with this. Wow.”

“It’s so stupid when you think of it like that. So, so stupid,” Steve said, facepalming, minding his bruise carefully. “How did I not piece this together sooner?”

Bucky grinned. “You’re not the sharpest tool in the toolbox.”

Indignant, Steve leaned over the table and punched Bucky’s shoulder. Immediately pain blossomed in chest but he tampered it down, refusing to seem weak in front of Clint. “Hey, you never mentioned your surname!”

“I’m telling Nat right now.” Clint said, retrieving his phone, and waving it in front of them. “It’ll make her feel better knowing this is how useless Bucky is without her. She likes knowing how needed she is.”

“Oh, we’re a mess without her,” Bucky cried woefully. “Natasha, Natasha, Natasha, what will we ever do without you?”

Steve laughed, as did Clint as he got up. “Clearly nothing. But hey, it’s all good.”

Clint walked away, phone pressed to his ear as he relayed the events that just occurred to Natasha. Bucky looked at Steve and smiled sheepishly. “So, I guess Clint does come at the right time after all.”

“I told you so.”

“Also, I thought you fell down the stairs. Who knew the stairs happened to bump into you?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow and Steve smiled sheepishly. Oops.

When Steve told the story to Sam, he couldn’t stop laughing, falling to his knees and wheezing as he did. Steve couldn’t help but join him. When he eventually got around to meeting Natasha, she teased him and Bucky for the entirety of the surprise party and seemed pleased at the whole thing. Bucky complained and moaned that she didn’t help them meet sooner, instead left them to their own devices.

(The devices weren’t mentioned explicitly. After all, contemplating suicide at the moment they met wasn’t the quirky, lovable story that everyone was expecting.)

However, Sam, the omniscient asshole, smiled knowingly and happily, able to put a name to the mysterious stranger that Steve had befriended. It was clear that Bucky was helping him through the process of learning to live again and enjoying life. They did talk of Steve’s down days, his impulsiveness and rash behaviour, and managed to find common grounds on it all, for Bucky to understand and help and leave him be.

It was Sam’s idea, because he knew that Steve wasn’t 100% just yet, and still needed time to heal, despite the time gone by. But Bucky took it all on board with a smile, careful optimism, and willingness to try. That was all they could do: try. After turbulence came peace, and it was all about getting there. They learnt quite early on that being with one another helped speed the process, and tried to be close to each other, as much as they could. It was all about finding a balance.

So, they still met at the bridge, spending late nights pondering and joking, but now Steve wasn’t apprehensive of visiting Bucky during the day, and slowly, all of the broken pieces realigned to complete the puzzle. Life wasn’t so bad anymore. Who knew that the darkness that once brought so much pain and despair, could bring so much mirth and contentment? Steve certainly didn’t. But he did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> byeeeee, I hope you enjoyed your stay! :)
> 
> tumblr: bountifulsilences

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


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